A Time to Laugh, a Time to Heal
by ninamonkey
Summary: Scott and Ororo learn to laugh again Post X2 .


A Time to Laugh, a Time to Heal

She stirred her tea and walked on quiet cat feet towards the rec room, absently wondering if he would be there. Before, when her own nightmares came as frequently as his, she would creep downstairs, spend a few empty, mechanical moments placing the kettle on the burner, preparing her tea, and then silently steep the teabag while studying the moon through the kitchen's crescent window. She would sip her tea – slowly, ever slowly – until enough time trickled away. When she felt safe, her steps inevitably lead here, where he lay with his head lolled back and his mouth softly parted, as the television shouted and screamed at an unresponsive host. Then automatically she'd slide back the hall closet doors, grab the quilt from the top shelf, and drape the blanket over his too-still, too-stiff form. And she would leave quickly, finally, with words never spoken, always mouthed: _We'll get through this_. He knew her routine as she knew his, but neither spoke of it. It had been easier not to speak of it and easier to heal, for both of them.

But as the months became autumn and autumn to winter, and winter to spring, old routines, like a heavy woolen cloak, were sluggishly shrugged away. Life lost some of its stiffness and, although joy still slept beneath winter's cold ground, there were a few, sparse buds willing to brave the craggy surface. A few told jokes, some children finally laughed out loud, and they considered the idea of summer camp. Although they both felt guilty, not thinking of her as they felt they should, they both exchanged a small smile when the roar of a motorbike echoed across the grounds. He'd returned, perhaps more surly and sullen than before, but he had returned nonetheless. And perhaps now the healing could be complete.

But Ororo's old listlessness also returned on the night of his arrival, and she found herself tipping silently, working diligently, and sipping quietly while thinking old, haunted thoughts in the depths of the night kitchen. But some of the spell had broken, as had some of the emptiness. So, spoon still in mug, she let the hollow clinking sound announce her steps in case it wasn't _his_ form asleep, or in case a student had stayed up too late – or even in case one of their nighttime regulars decided to wander the halls. She smiled as she peeked over the couch. He was there, wearing his customary black t-shirt and flannel pajama bottoms but awake, this time. And her eyebrow slowly rose at the surprising, muted chortle bubbling from his lips.

"You know," Scott said, gesturing at the screen with the remote, "I think I would've cried if I'd seen this six months ago."

Ororo joined him on the opposite end of the couch and delicately tucked her legs beneath her silk robe. She was happy that he was suddenly happy, although she hoped the giggle wasn't due to madness. "Oh?" She followed his gaze to the television, and saw the program. The irony wasn't lost on her, but she was too stunned to react at first.

"Oh…oh, dear." She tried to hold back her own giggles, unsure how Scott would take it, but she couldn't. 

"No, it _is_ funny." He was shaking his head now, unable to stop his wicked snorts. "Of all the shows, of _all_ the channels, I turn it on at the _exact_ moment TV Land's running an 'I Dream of Jeannie' marathon."

Ororo was covering her mouth with both hands, but her shoulders shook with repressed laughter. "It's not funny. It shouldn't be funny—" A small keen escaped her lips.

Scott laughed harder at the unfeminine whines, and whistles between Ororo's teeth, and began holding his sides as the mania hit with full force. "Oh, yeah, keep it up. It's frickin' hilarious. _Hilarious_."

They laughed too long over the irony and it didn't surprise them when they both alternated between convulsive hiccups and absolute sobs. They'd spent so much time holding things together, holding the school and the Professor and the children and themselves together, that the grieving had been ignored and forgotten.

"Ohhh," Ororo finally said, twenty minutes later. She breathlessly gasped for air. "People will think we're utter _loons_." She was spent from their tantrum, and lay collapsed against Scott's side. He sighed deep to catch his own breath, rubbed his overly bright cheeks, and smirked playfully before returning his gaze to the television.

"No more than normal."

"Ah, but what _is_ normal?"

"Good question. Damn good question." He turned the television's volume down and hid a yawn between his fingers. It really didn't matter; the volume was low enough that even Logan wouldn't hear it if he wasn't trying, but he wanted Ororo to know that he was listening. He briefly squeezed her shoulder. "I think we're getting there. Like you've always said, 'we'll get through this.'"

She suddenly stiffened. "You couldn't have heard me," she said, masking her expression. "I never said those words out loud."

"No, but I saw your lips move a few times, when you thought I was asleep. After a while I knew what you were saying. I couldn't go back to sleep until I saw you."

"Was I that predictable?"

"As predictable as me."

"Oh, that bad, eh?" She ducked as Scott lazily chucked a pillow at her head, then her smile sobered. "I didn't want to wake you."

"And I didn't want to be pitied, so there it is." His blank gaze returned to the television. "We both got what we wanted."

"Needed," she corrected softly.

"Needed," he agreed. He paused, mocking Major Healy's antics with a sad smile. "I never did thank you for the blanket."

"You didn't need to. She…would have wanted it that way."

"Yeah," he murmured. They were lost in the glare of the television for a few moments, neither speaking, neither daring to speak. Ororo watched him from the corner of her eye, and realized she couldn't let this moment die. Not when they were both so close. So close to healing.

She patted his knee and rose to her feet. "She would have wanted us to go on living, too."

Scott glanced over his shoulder as she headed for the kitchen. "You headed up?"

"Oh, no. Hardly." She entered the kitchen, grabbed the most decadent packet of microwave popcorn she could find, and placed it in the microwave. She returned to the rec room and watched Scott carefully, as if challenging him.

"What?"

She rolled her eyes and plopped beside him. "You can't watch an 'I Dream of Jeannie' marathon without popcorn. It's sacrilegious."

He was thawing, she could tell from his smile. It was a new smile, a genuine one. "True."

The microwave dinged and Ororo left to retrieve the popcorn and a large plastic bowl. She placed the bowl on the coffee table while Scott split the bag and poured until the popcorn spilled over the sides. "Ultra-butter? You _are_ in a decadent mood."

"It was time for a treat."

"Mmf," he said, shoving a handful of popcorn in his mouth. It sounded like a yes, so she took it as so.

Ororo grabbed a handful of popcorn for herself, threw a kernel in the air, and deftly caught it in her mouth. She snuggled beside him on the couch and they stayed up the rest of the night, laughing together at the ridiculous program. It wasn't the show, really, and she knew – both from his small smiles, and from hers – that they were seeing more. They were finally seeing her between the laughs.

And finally, the memories were good.

--Fin--


End file.
